Incredible journey

On 30 July 1966 we were travelling to Denmark from our home in West Germany for a caravanning holiday. Our journey coincided with the World Cup final between England and West Germany and my father, who was looking out for somewhere to watch it en route, decided we would have to stop at a roadside restaurant while still in Germany. A meal of bratwurst and chips was followed by him innocently asking the restaurant owner, "Are you watching the match this afternoon?" "Of course!" he replied, and a few minutes later we were settling down in the owner's sitting room with the rest of his family. The already tense atmosphere was stoked up by the arrival of a motorbike cop in leather jodhpurs, who started loudly criticising the England team. My father endeavoured to calm my brother and I down with a "That's enough boys. Remember where you are." But it was even more difficult for us to suppress our jubilation after Martin Peters scored in the second half. Needless to say, the disputed third goal made any possibility of us all being united by sport beyond question. We left pretty promptly after Hurst's clinching goal, as by then we had definitely outstayed our welcome. Needless to say, the Germans got their revenge - and I don't mean four years later. The following day we all went down with food poisoning.